


that xx

by saemiqlon



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Inspired by Music, M/M, One Shot, Songfic, Unrequited Love, but floch has it BAD, floch is really in love, jean is too, rated teen and up for swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:46:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29177409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saemiqlon/pseuds/saemiqlon
Summary: "he took off the ring you gave him / and linked his arm around someone / i’ll just leave it at that"
Relationships: Floch Forster/Eren Yeager, Floch Forster/Jean Kirstein
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	that xx

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by that xx by g-dragon.

Jean has been best friends with Floch for ten years. Has been in love with him for five.

Jean always knew that he had an overwhelming amount of love in his heart. He wanted to do so many things with the person he loved: he wanted to hold their face in his hands and give them a kiss, as soft as a butterfly perching on top of a flower petal; he wanted to have someone blush so hard at his words that they had no choice but to hide their roseate cheeks with their hands; he wanted to find his happiness in another person’s smile; he wanted to feel the feeling of having someone who also had him. Sometimes, he’d daydream about it while listening to songs. The problem was, he never knew who that mysterious figure in his thoughts could be.

He was fourteen when he realised; it was exactly on the day of his fourteenth birthday. He doesn’t know when it began. He’s unsure when being with Floch felt as essential to him as breathing. His entire life felt like a blur, days melting together; everything felt so plain, and he felt so numb. He knew that he needed to do something about it—even Sasha told him that over and over—but he couldn’t. Every time he pressed play on that playlist, he’d find himself unable to do anything but stare at his ceiling and stay there until the music ended.

This is where Floch came in. He didn’t make his grand entrance like a leading act in a play. No, he was much more discreet. As discreet as throwing stones at Jean’s window could be.

It was the first time Jean climbed out of his window and snuck out the house. Floch said that there was a first time for everything. Jean supposed that was right. That day, Floch bought him ice cream (a week later, Jean found out that he’d stolen the money to buy it from his brother). It was vanilla, Jean’s favourite flavour—Floch always made fun of him for it, saying that vanilla was “the most boring and straightest flavour.” Jean just shrugged every time he said that, not caring enough to reply to his best friend.

That wasn’t what made Jean feel the first skip of his heart, though. It was when Floch suddenly placed a birthday hat on his head, and started softly singing happy birthday to him. That’s when he realised.

Floch was  _ different _ .

He wasn’t like any other forgettable thing in Jean’s life. To Jean, Floch represented the feeling of reassurance. Reassurance that one day, everything will be okay. That not everything in life is just mundane. That maybe, just maybe, grasping on Floch’s hand would mean that he’ll be pulled up from this pit, someday, somehow.

Connie told him that that couldn’t happen. That he has to pull himself up because nobody else will do it for him, because even if someone did pull him up it’ll only last for a while. He wasn’t good with analogies but he tried his best to explain to Jean that you couldn’t trust someone to keep you afloat.

“You’re in this pool of despair,” he said, “and you think someone is pulling you out, but really they’re not. They can teach you how to swim, they can tell you how to not sink. But in the end, it’ll be you swimming.”

Jean didn’t listen to Connie. He just kept on holding on, and hoping, and hoping. He leaned on Floch so much that he was sure he’d fall over, but he never did—and that only gave him more hope.

He held on for five years.

Maybe that’s why it hurt more than it should. Every scene he saw played over and over like some twisted film—he could feel his heart dropping, his stomach twisting every time he saw those smiling faces, the cute messages on his timeline, the selfies they took together. It wasn’t jealousy, no. He could never be jealous of Eren—nor could he be envious, and yes, he knows those are two different things. He couldn’t bring himself to feel negative emotions towards other people, especially people who never wronged him in any way.

That was, until one day. A day where he was studying the party hat as usual, then saw something at the corner of his eye, outside his window.

“Fuck you.”

Those were the first words that left Floch’s mouth after Jean entered his house, explaining the situation to him. The entire time, after he answered to Jean banging on the door, Floch had been quiet. He didn’t say a single word, even after Jean sighed loudly and paused for a moment in the middle of his story.

Jean, on the other hand, was confused. Of course he was confused—who wouldn’t be? He thought that maybe Floch had directed that at his lover, but… If that was the case, why did he say “you”? But then, why would Floch say that to Jean, his best friend, who’d only been telling the truth? And hell, maybe Jean is desperate here, but if it was directed at him, then why didn’t Floch look him in the eye when he said it?

As if to push the knife in further, Floch repeated, “Fuck you.  _ Fuck you! _ Fuck you, Jean Kirstein!”

_ Oh _ .

Jean could only reply with a weak “What?”

“I said”—Floch was looking at him now, and Jean could see tears in the corners of his eyes—“fuck you. Is that not clear enough for you? Do I need to spell it out?” Floch smiled, a bitter kind of smile, which turned into an insincere laugh when Jean didn’t answer his questions. “I know you hate Eren, but listen, don’t you think this is a little too much?”

Jean only grew weaker. His voice cracked a little when he attempted to speak, which led to him awkwardly clearing his throat. Then, “I don’t hate Eren.”

“Yes you do!” Floch stood up from his seat, rage completely taking him over. Jean winced.

“Okay.” Jean sighed, gently, so he wouldn’t agitate Floch even more. “Okay, fine. I hate Eren. And so what if I do hate him? Does that mean that I can’t tell the truth about him?” When Jean said the word ‘truth’, Floch’s expression grew dark. “I saw him, Floch, with my own two eyes. I saw him there, he was with someone I don’t know, and I don’t even care who they are, because why should I? The point is, he’s a piece of shit, Floch, and if he’s not hurting you now, then he’ll hurt you one day.”  _ I hope that doesn’t happen _ .

“At that time, was he wearing a ring or not?”

Again, all Jean managed to answer was, “What?”

“The ring that I gave him when we first started dating. Do you remember? Answer me. Was he wearing it?”

Jean tried his best to return back to his memories. He unlocked the box that he’d been trying so hard to lock. Inside, he saw Eren holding hands with someone he didn’t know, the biggest smile on his face. Jean wanted to throw up at that, but he still tried to focus. He tried to focus on Eren’s hand, to see if there was something there. From what he remembered, there was nothing. Not a single sign that Eren had a lover.

“No,” Jean replied. “He must have taken it off.”

“Then,” Floch concluded, "you lied about everything, all because you hate Eren. That’s all I learned today.”

Jean began to get angry, a feeling that he never in a million years thought he’d feel towards Floch. Was he really this blind? Does he really love Eren this much? He knew how much Floch loved Eren from the way he talked about his lover, but Jean didn’t realise it was this bad. It made him want to scream and cry, because what the hell did Eren have that he didn’t? “How can you be so sure of that?” He asked.

“Because Eren promised me he wouldn’t take off the ring.”

Jean gave up. Jean had enough. He let his emotions rule over him. “What does that damn promise mean? Does it mean anything to that bastard? Fuck, does your fucking existence matter to that piece of shit bastard?”

“Oh, you fucking piece of—” Floch raised his fist, ready to hit Jean. But he sighed and put it down. “Get out of my house. I don't want to talk to you anymore. Forever.”

And just like that, Jean had been best friends with Floch for ten years, been in love with him for five, and then lost him.

**Author's Note:**

> a rewrite of my previous works! come scream with me [here](https://twitter.com/flovch)


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